"So, how are things going?" Andy asked. "Actually, never mind, that goofy-ass grin on your face tells me everything."

Rory bit his lip, but there was no point in trying to hide his smile. He and Andy were out at a bar together—since they'd repaired things, Rory had been making an effort to hang out with his friends, despite wanting to spend every waking moment with Milo.

"It's good," Rory said, shrugging, still grinning stupidly.

"Is he your, like, boyfriend or whatever?" Andy asked.

This made Rory's smile falter.

"No, not really. We're just… dating. Or whatever. Hanging out."

"Okay, what's that look for?" Andy said, pouncing instantly.

"What look?"

Andy gave Rory a don't play dumb look.

"It's complicated," Rory said.

Andy rolled his eyes.

"Complicated?" Andy said. "Is that his word or yours?"

"Mine," Rory said, feeling defensive. "I'm the one who said we shouldn't label it."

"But…" Andy prompted.

"Goddamnit, Andy," Rory said. "Just let me have fun, okay?"

"Fine," Andy said, relaxing back in the booth. He had one eyebrow raised.

"You clearly have something you want to say," Rory grumbled. "So say it."

"I'm just feeling a little protective of my friend, okay?" Andy said.

"Why? You jealous?" Rory said, wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously. Andy snorted and threw a coaster at Rory.

"You fucking wish," Andy said. "I mean, I don't know this guy at all, but from what you told me before—"

"Look, I get it," Rory said. "He's… he's got issues. I'm not saying he's perfect."

"I'm not saying he has to be," Andy said. "Let me put it this way. I'm happy to support you on your dick-seeking adventures, but if you do ever need me to kick his ass because he hurt you, just let me know, okay?"

"You're a true pal, Andy," Rory said.

* * *

Rory was pleasantly tipsy.

Milo hadn't texted him back about meeting up. Rory knew he should probably just head home, but Milo's house wasn't that far out of the way—

Okay, so maybe it was the complete opposite direction from Rory's house, but Rory really wanted to see Milo that night if possible.

It wasn't too cold out, considering it was the dead of winter, and his buzz warmed him from the inside out. Linfield was at its ugliest this time of year—everything dark and frozen and dirty, potholes and puddles and gritty snowbanks that never quite seemed to melt away until May.

But, Rory realized, he didn't really mind it this year. He hadn't gotten a job yet—though he'd lined up a few interviews—but he knew this would be his last winter in Linfield. He hadn't told anyone yet that he was planning to move—not Andy, not his family, not Milo—but the thought filled him with lightness, a pale ray of warmth guiding him through the rest of the winter months.

It was a decision that was completely his own, and there was something powerful about that. He smiled to himself as he walked.

When he reached Milo's street, he checked his phone again—still no response from Milo. Was it creepy, he wondered, to show up at Milo's door unannounced? They were dating, after all, he reasoned. He'd knock lightly, on the off chance that Milo was awake, and then if Milo didn't answer, he'd just go home.

There was something dark huddled in the corner of the porch, and for a moment, Rory thought it was a pile of laundry—until it moved, and Rory saw the bright flare of the lit cigarette.

"Milo?" Rory said, frowning.

The shape shifted, unfolding into long limbs, and Rory saw Milo's face, pale in the glow of the streetlight.

He looked awful—his face was deathly white and drawn, and Rory could tell from Milo's posture, the way his body seemed to spill over itself, that he was beyond drunk.

"Rory?" Milo said, his voice weak, words slurred. "What're you doing here?"

Rory crouched down beside Milo, his chest tightening in alarm.

"Are you okay?" Rory asked. "Why are you out here?"

Milo moved to take a drag of his cigarette, and it seemed like he was having a lot of difficulty with just that simple movement. The cigarette was mostly ash at this point, and it fell, streaking down onto Milo's sweater.

"Jesus, Milo, what's going on?" Rory said. He brushed the ash from Milo's chest and took the cigarette, stubbing it out, flicking it aside. Milo's fingers were as cold as ice, and he was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. "Fuck, come on, you need to get inside."

Rory draped Milo's arm over his shoulder and helped Milo to his feet. Milo was so drunk he could barely stand, and he slurred something unintelligible. Rory wanted to ask Milo what the fuck was going on, how long he'd been sitting outside without a goddamn coat, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be getting a lot of answers out of Milo at the moment.

"Sorry," Milo mumbled, lolling his head against Rory's shoulder. His breath smelled like pure alcohol, and Rory gritted his teeth. He felt a chilling sort of gratitude that he'd decided to come over—who knew what might have happened if Milo had fallen asleep outside.

But at the same time, Rory couldn't help feeling irritated. Milo was almost thirty, and he still acted like a freshman at his first frat party. It was a little… scary, Rory realized.

It took a while to get Milo up the stairs, and finally, Rory deposited Milo onto the couch in a jumble of limbs. Milo slumped over, his head lolling down onto his chest, hair falling into his face.

Rory sighed and went to get a glass of water for him. When he came back, he found Milo trying in vain to open a mostly-empty whiskey bottle, frowning in concentration as he attempted to unscrew the top.

"Milo—no—" Rory said, snatching it away. Milo looked down at his empty hands, confused.

"Wha—"

"What the fuck?" Rory said, dropping down on the couch next to Milo and shoving the water glass in his hands. "What's going on?"

Milo looked down at the glass like he wasn't sure what to do with it, and Rory sighed and took it from him, putting it on the table.

Milo was trying to communicate something, but his words were melting together like the slushy, dirty snowbanks outside. He clutched his phone in one hand so hard his knuckles were white.

"Milo, I don't know what you're saying—" Rory said. He felt wildly out of his depth here—he'd taken care of drunk people before, but people like Andy who just thought four in the morning karaoke was a good idea when they were wasted. He took Milo's phone from his hand before Milo accidentally dropped it and shattered the screen and started to stand up again.

"Don't leave me—" Milo said, clutching Rory's arm, pulling him down, gripping him so hard Rory thought he might bruise.

"I'm not," Rory said gently. He helped Milo up and guided him into the bedroom. Milo stumbled and slammed into the doorframe.

"Oh, shit," he mumbled.

"Come on, get into bed," Rory said. Milo was still distraught about something, but Rory had given up trying to work out what—if anything—had happened. The best thing to do now, he thought, was to get Milo asleep. They could talk in the morning.

Milo collapsed down onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow. He was still talking, still babbling incoherently, and his voice had gone high and twisted, still muffled by the pillow. His body spasmed, and Rory couldn't tell if he was crying or gagging.

"Milo," Rory said in his most soothing voice. He sat down next to Milo on the bed, rubbing his back again. Milo picked his head up off the pillow, and the expression on his face was so desperate, so tortured, that Rory felt an icy fist clench in his chest. Milo's hand shot out and grabbed the phone with more coordination than Rory thought he was capable of.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked, as Milo rolled on his side and glared at his phone, trying to unlock it. "Don't text anyone."

He reached for the phone but Milo held it out of Rory's reach with his long arms.

"Milo, please give me the phone—"

Milo mumbled something and tried to pull his shirt off, but got tangled up in the sleeves.

"Here," Rory said gently. "Let me help you."

Milo wasn't particularly helpful as Rory tried to extricate him from his clothing, still clinging to his phone. He kept insisting he could do it himself, swatting Rory's hands away. Rory eventually got Milo down to his underwear and was about to find something that might pass for pajamas when Milo groaned loudly.

"I… don't feel good," he said, sitting up, swaying, his head lolling against his chest.

"Oh Jesus—" Rory grabbed Milo and all but hauled him to the bathroom, and not a moment too soon—suddenly Milo was crumpled in front of the toilet, body wracked with spasms. Rory shuddered at the sound of liquid splattering in the toilet bowl.

Milo had barely eaten, it appeared, because it seemed like he was just throwing up pure alcohol and bile. He moaned pathetically in between heaves, but his stomach continued to try and empty itself long after everything was gone.

"It's okay," Rory said, muttering soft, vaguely comforting things as he crouched beside Milo, rubbing his back.

Milo's phone, still in his hand, was dangerously close to falling into the toilet, so Rory gently extricated it.

The phone was still unlocked and Milo's messages were open to his most recent conversation—a wall of text from Ryan. He hadn't meant to read anything, but his eye caught on the most recent text, which had arrived only a few minutes before Rory had found Milo huddled on the porch.

>>RYAN: good fucking luck finding someone who will put up with you like I do

That certainly explained why Milo was so drunk and so distraught. And though Rory knew it was a huge invasion of privacy, he couldn't stop himself from glancing at the other texts, rage building in his throat as he read.

>>RYAN: you can pretend youre over me but we both know youre not

>>MILO: I'm seeing someone.

>>RYAN: so am i

>>MILO: You're fucking disgusting.

>>RYAN: as if you can replace me

>>RYAN: come on babe dont you miss me

>>MILO: No.

>>RYAN: youve been begging for my cock for years we both know that hasn’t changed

>>MILO: Fuck off.

>>RYAN: let me come over ill make you feel good

>>MILO: Stop texting me.

>>RYAN: dont act like youre better than me

>>RYAN: fuck you

>>RYAN: youre going to come crawling back to me once you realize no one else wants you

>>RYAN: don’t fucking ignore me

>>RYAN: youre still in love with me

>>RYAN: dont pretend youre not

>>RYAN: youre not fucking seeing someone

>>RYAN: who the fuck would date you

>>RYAN: youre a fucking mess

>>RYAN: who else is going to put up with your shit

>>RYAN: youre too much work

>>RYAN: why do you think I never wanted to date you

>>RYAN: I cant believe youre fucking ignoring me right. Im the best thing that ever happened to you and the best thing youll ever get. Stop fucking pretending youre not reading this and answer me

There was a ten minute gap in the time stamps, and then the messages had resumed.

>>RYAN: come on babe

>>RYAN: I know youre pissed about Camilla

>>RYAN: let me come over and make you forget about it

>>RYAN: who the fuck are you seeing

>>RYAN: he cant fuck you like I can

>>RYAN: I know you

>>RYAN: I know who you are milo

>>RYAN: what you like

>>RYAN: whats gonna happen when he sees the real you??

>>RYAN: you think hes gonna stick around and put up with you when you get depressed? Who the fuck would want to be around you then?

>>RYAN: answer your fucking phone milo

>>RYAN: ill give you another chance

>>RYAN: come find me when he gets tired of you

>>RYAN: maybe if youre lucky ill take you back

>>RYAN: good fucking luck finding someone who will put up with you like I do

Rory stood there, in Milo's small bathroom, frozen, looking down at the screen. There was a loud retching noise, and Rory snapped back to the present moment. He was so stunned he'd forgotten where he was for a moment. He drew a deep breath to steady himself—rage was burning in him so hot his vision seemed to shimmer.

Rory's hands shook as he went to Milo's contacts and found Kit's number.

Kit picked up after two rings.

"Milo?" Kit said. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, this is Rory," Rory said, feeling kind of stupid. "I, um… I'm with Milo and he's… not doing well. Would, um, would you be able to… come over to his apartment?"

"Is he okay? What's going on?" Kit said, their voice tightening in panic.

"He's—he's fine. Physically, I mean—he's really drunk and upset. Like, drunker than I've ever seen… anyone, really."

"Jesus Christ," Kit said. "Do you know what happened?"

"Um—Ryan was texting him—" Rory said, flushing with guilt. "Yeah. I—um, accidentally read some of it and—he wanted to come over and he got really… aggressive, and I don't… know what to do."

"Okay," said Kit. "I'm out with Jamie—we'll close out our tabs and come over in like, twenty minutes."

Rory squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and put his head in his hands, overwhelmed by pain, climbing hot and fast up his throat like acid. He felt like his heart was breaking, cracking open into needle-sharp fragments, at the thought of Milo, alone and drunk in the cold on his front porch, reading those messages.

He knelt on the floor beside Milo and squeezed Milo's shoulder, as if that could somehow communicate even a fraction of the sorrow Rory felt. He wanted to wrap Milo up in his arms and guard him from feeling any hurt, any sadness.

He also wanted to punch Ryan's face in.

"How are you feeling?" Rory asked Milo, trying to pull himself back to the present moment.

"Bad," Milo said weakly.

Rory wanted to say something, to do something to take away Milo's pain—Rory had never felt quite so helpless.

For now, though, Rory sat with Milo on the floor of his bathroom, rubbing Milo's back and murmuring soothing things as Milo continued to dry heave.

After a while, Rory heard the front door open and suddenly someone very tall and very elegant was standing in the doorway to the bathroom—exactly the kind of person he would expect to be Milo's best friend.

"You must be Kit," Rory said, smiling weakly. "I've… heard a lot about you."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Rory. Though I wish the circumstances were a little better," Kit said, raising an eyebrow. They looked down at Milo, frowning. "How's he doing?"

"Kit?" Milo said, pulling his head up out of the toilet bowl for a moment, squinting up at his friend. "What… what're you doing here?"

"Rory called me," Kit said. They crouched down gracefully beside Milo in the cramped bathroom and rubbed his back. "We're going to take care of you, okay?"

"I'm going to get him some water," Rory said. He stepped out into the hallway and nearly bumped into another person. "Oh—"

"Hey," the stranger said. "I'm Jamie. Nice to meet you." He flashed Rory a polite, charming smile, as if this were a totally normal way to meet the friends of the person you were dating.

"Hi," Rory said. "Um, thanks for coming—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Jamie said, waving his hand. "Seriously, I'm glad you called."

"Yeah—Milo's… not doing well," Rory said, chewing his lip. "I'm gonna get him some water."

He slipped into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets to find a clean glass that he filled in the tap. Rory couldn't help feeling stupid, like he'd overreacted asking for help—but at the same time, he felt much calmer now that Milo's friends were here.

When he came back, he heard Kit talking softly to Milo. They were now perched on the edge of the tub, and Milo slurred something unintelligible.

"Here you go," Rory said, stepping past Jamie into the bathroom. He crouched beside Milo, but Milo waved the glass of water away, so Rory set it on the counter and sat down on the edge of the tub next to Kit.

"So what happened?" Kit asked.

"I was out with a friend and I stopped by afterwards," Rory said. "I found him on the porch, totally wasted—" Rory winced as Milo vomited again, his whole body seizing up. "And I really didn't mean to read his texts, but it was open to his messages and there was all this really horrible stuff from Ryan—"

At the name, Milo's head snapped up and he shot a glassy, angry look at them.

"Fuck him," Milo said, wiping his hand across the back of his mouth. He tried to say something else but had to turn back to the toilet bowl as he gagged.

"Can I see his phone?" Kit asked. Rory handed Kit the phone. Kit unlocked it and read through the messages, and Rory watched as their face twisted with disgust as they read. Milo was so drunk that he didn't even seem to notice Kit was reading through his phone—or perhaps he was beyond caring.

Rory felt a twinge of pain and when he glanced down, he realized he'd been compulsively picking at his cuticles and had just peeled off a strip of skin. He winced.

"I feel sick," Kit said softly, setting the phone down. They pressed their hand to their lips. "I had… I had no idea it was that bad."

Jamie was looking at them questioningly, but he didn't pry for more information.

"Yeah," Rory said, his voice heavy.

Kit glanced up at Jamie.

"Ryan texted Milo from his fucking bachelor party wanting to come over and hook up. And then when Milo refused, Ryan started basically hurling abuse at him."

Jamie frowned.

"That's vile," he said. "God, I want to murder that asshole."

"I'm calling dibs on that," Kit said.

Milo pulled his head up and looked blearily at them, blinking, like he only just realized they were there.

"How ya feeling?" Jamie asked.

"Shitty," Milo slurred. "Don't like this."

"No, it's not fun," Kit said, patting Milo's shoulder kindly. "We're here, though."

Milo looked at them again, and his face screwed up like he was trying to cry but couldn't.

"I’m sorry," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Kit said fiercely. "Come on, let's get you into bed," Kit said, and it took a coordinated effort by all three of them to wrangle Milo back into the bedroom. Kit crawled into bed beside Milo and propped him up against their shoulder, helping him drink some water.

Rory sat down on the bed, exhausted and deflated.

"You—you don't have to stay," Rory said. "I can take care of him—"

"Don't worry about it," Jamie said with a grim smile, sitting on the bed beside Kit. "Kit and Milo took care of my drunk ass on my twenty-first birthday, so I'm just returning the favor."

"Are you okay?" Kit asked softly.

Rory swallowed hard and shook his head.

When he glanced up, he found Kit looking at him, their gray eyes big and sad.

"Oh, Rory," they said softly, and they reached over to Rory, pulling him in and holding him tight, Milo sandwiched between them. And though Rory had only just met Kit, he felt as if he'd known Kit for years, felt as if Kit could read his soul in that moment.

Rory pulled back and let out a long sigh, as if he could somehow decompress the pressure, the hurt, building up inside him. Jamie curled up next to Kit, watching quietly. Milo had fallen asleep, and for a moment Rory watched his ribs rise and fall. He reached out and traced lightly along one of the flowers tattooed on Milo's shoulder.

"I don't know what to do," Rory said finally. "All that stuff that Ryan said—do you think Milo… believes that?"

Kit sighed.

"I don't know," they said. "I'm afraid part of him might."

"That's what I'm afraid of, too," Rory said quietly. He glanced over and saw Jamie had fallen asleep as well. He swallowed hard. There was something about Kit, about the dark and the quiet of the late night, that made him comfortable saying something he hadn't had the courage to even think about before. "I… I’m really fucking scared. Because I think I'm falling in love with him and I don't know if… I don't know if he's in a place where he could love me back. Even if he wanted to."

Rory drew a shaky breath, and Kit waited for him to continue.

"He's… he's just the most amazing person I've ever met," Rory said, and Kit smiled faintly at this, a very Milo-esque expression. "Totally out of my league—like, sometimes I can barely believe he even wants to talk to me, much less… date, or whatever."

"From what I can see, I think you're selling yourself short," Kit said.

"I just—I'm sorry," Rory said, flushing. "I'm rambling now but—"

"It's fine," Kit said soothingly.

"I just feel like I'm constantly asking so much of him, and this whole time we've been… hooking up, together, whatever we're even calling it, I've just been waiting for the moment he gets tired of me. It's scary as hell to feel this much for someone and just not know—not know if they feel the same way or—"

Rory stopped, running out of steam abruptly.

"For what it's worth," Kit said after a moment, "I've known Milo for a long time. For someone who's so eloquent on paper, he has a hard time sometimes expressing himself. Part of that is just Milo, and that's fine—but I hadn't realized until tonight just how badly Ryan must have fucked him up."

"I still can't believe…" Rory said, shaking his head, feeling another sick pang of anger. When he glanced over at Kit, Kit's gaze had gone far away, and they looked like they were trying not to cry.

"Yeah," Kit said. "I… I don't know if this is the first time this has happened but… something tells me it isn't. And I can't stand the thought of Milo going through this alone. I wish I'd known."

Kit looked down at Milo, whose breathing was still heavy and rhythmic, his hair partly covering in his face. They reached down, gently pushing back his hair.

"Anyway, all that is to say that just because Milo is a little… distant sometimes doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't feel something for you." Kit paused for a moment. "He's one of the most important people in my life… But he can be difficult and prickly sometimes, and not everyone knows how to interpret that, or has the patience for it."

"But he's worth it," Rory said fiercely, frowning, and Kit gave him a very fond look.

"I certainly think so," Kit said. Kit chewed on the inside of their cheek for a moment. "You seem like a really good person, Rory, and I think Milo really cares about you."

Rory shut his eyes for a moment, trying to pick through the sticky mire of emotions and exhaustion and articulate what he felt.

"I love him," Rory said at last, and as he said it, everything suddenly seemed simple, falling neatly into place with a cold, sad kind of clarity. "I want to show him that. I just don't know if he'll let me."

"I hope he will," Kit said. "For his sake as well as yours."

"Don't—don't tell him I said that,"Rory said, glancing at Kit nervously.

"I won't," Kit said with a small, sad smile.

"I think he'd… probably freak the fuck out and never talk to me again if I said that to him," Rory said, looking back down at Milo, passed out beside him. He felt a deep, aching sadness in his core, but it was freeing, too, to finally admit how he felt, how scary it was. "It's not even like I need him to love me back. I just wish I could tell him how I felt without him running away."